The Words
by A Girl With No Identity
Summary: Freya Galeson loves words. The only problem is, she can't read. What will become of her when she enters Prince Eliott's Selection? How will she be able to keep her secret? SYOC 8/8 Closed
1. The Envelopes

**Okay, so I started a new story while in the middle of Enough. I just had this idea and really wanted to work on it. I will be back to my other story soon enough (ha ha! get it?)**

I run across the field, laughing the whole time. "Wait up!" I call to my best friend and cousin, Lake. She giggles and runs faster. I chase after her for a few more minutes and eventually give up, stopping to catch my breath as she sprints on ahead of me. I walk the rest of the way home, panting. Lake stands outside the door, waiting for me. "You're slow, Freya," she teases. I respond by sticking my tongue out at her (in a very mature manner, of course). She laughs again and steps inside."Oh!" she says. "I almost forgot! Look what I got today!" She reaches into her pocket and pulls out two identical looking envelopes.

"Ooh, what is it?" I say, reaching for one of the envelopes. Lake holds them over her head, high enough that I can't reach them. "I don't know what they are, silly, I haven't opened them yet! But I do know that they're from the Palace!"

"Really?" I say, not entirely believing her. My cousin has tricked me before.

"Yes, really!" she says. "Look!" she hands one of the envelopes to me, showing me the Royal Illean seal on the front. "Wow," I breathe, barely able to believe that I'm holding a letter from the Palace. I slowly open the envelope, my hands trembling slightly. I pull out the letter and hand it to Lake. "What does it say?"

" _To the house of Galeson_ ," she reads in an overly dramatic voice. " _A recent Census has confirmed that a single lady between the ages of sixteen and twenty currently resides in your home. It is a great honor to invite this lovely Daughter of Illea to enter in the Selection of His Highness, Prince Elliot Schreave. Families of those Selected will be generously compensated_ -"

I cut her off there. "A Selection? Really?"

"Well, that's what it says," Lake shrugs. "And it sure would take a whole lot of work if this were a prank." At the word 'prank' I can almost see the gears start turning in her mind. I laugh at my mischievous friend. "Are you going to enter?" I ask her.

"Probably not."

"Why not?" I ask.

"If I did, who would be here to take care of you?" she says.

"Lake, I'm sixteen years old. I think I can take care of myself."

"You're only barely sixteen," she points out. "Your birthday was only two months ago, Freya. Besides, the Prince isn't my type."

"How would you know?" I challenge. "You've never even met him!"

"He's too serious for my liking," she says simply. "And," she adds in a matter-of-fact tone, "his nose is too big."

"What? It is not!" I insist.

"it is so," Lake says. "I'm surprised he doesn't fall over from the weight of it. Good luck kissing him with that thing in the way!"

"Who says I'm going to kiss him?"

"Well, you're going to need to do a little more than kissing if he chooses you." Lake raises her eyebrows suggestively.

"What?" I say, not quite understanding what she's implying.

She giggles. "You're going to need to 'produce an heir', Freya."

"Lake!" I yell, shocked.

"You need to think ahead, Fray," she says, still giggling.

"Not that far ahead!" I insist. "I don't even know if I'm going to enter!"

"What? Of course you should enter!" Lake says.

"But . . . I don't even know him, " I point out.

"Duh!" Lake says. "That's why you're entering! So you can meet him."

"I can't even fill out the form, Lake. How am I supposed to survive in the Palace?"

"I'll fill it out for you," she say, suddenly serious. "And you'll do fine. Fray, look at me." She cups my chin and tilts my head up towards her. "You can do this, okay? And you should. It's what Granddad would want."

I soften at the mention of Granddad. "Okay," I say. "I'll enter."

 **So, a fairly short chapter to start with. This story is an SYOC but I'm only accepting a few characters so I can really get into their personalities. I'll be accepting up to five girls to be in the Selection and up to three non-Selected characters (maids, palace staff, rebels, etc.)PMs are preferred, but if you have to do it through reviews, that's okay, too.**

 **First name:**

 **Middle name(optional):**

 **last name:**

 **Nickname (optional):**

 **I'm still deciding whether or not I want there to be castes in the story. Go ahead and put one for now:**

 **Occupation:**

 **Languages spoken:**

 **Hair color+length(doesn't need to be a measurement, just say something like "shoulder-length")**

 **Eye color:**

 **Height:**

 **Weight:**

 **Age:**

 **Level of education/grade level completed:**

 **Approximate grades while in school(if they went to public school):**

 **Personality(the more you write, the better):**

 **Why they entered the Selection:**

 **Hobbies:**

 **Family members:**

 **Background/history:**

 **Interesting habits (like biting nails, always looking around a room before entering, etc. Can be bad, good, or neither):**

 **Anything else I should know about your character:**

 **Have fun!**


	2. The Forms

**I have received two characters so far : Luna Silverwood from Nithya and Albany Barnes from TieDieTruth. In this chapter, I will try not to botch these characters horribly as I attempt to write from their points of view.**

 **I realized I forgot to put province on the form. If you don't care what province they're from, don't put it on there; I'll just make one up. If you do care, add it to your application.**

 **Also, there will definitely be castes in the story.**

 **I'm accepting three of four more Selected characters and three non-Selected characters (maids, rebels, etc.) I need a couple of mean girls, if possible.**

 **TieDieTruth: I'm glad you're excited. I am, too. "I can feel the fluff already." I love that sentence. I'm sorry Albany's part is kind of short.**

 **Luna's POV**

"Miss Luna! Miss Luna!" I hear a voice call. I turn around and see four-year-old Maya Lane running towards me.

I smile. "What do you need, Maya?"

Her eyes light up. "Do you have any _chocolate_?"

I sigh, hating to disappoint the little girl. "No, Maya, I don't have any chocolate." Her shoulders sag. I begin digging through my bag, anxious to find something to make up for it. "But," I say, pulling out a little doll made of corn-husks, "I do have this!"

She gasps in awe as the takes the little doll in her hand. "Can I keep her?"

"Of course you can. But you have to take super-duper good care of her, okay?"

"I will," she promises. She then proudly proclaims, "I'm going to name her after you!" With that, she runs off again, calling, "Mommy, Mommy, look what Miss Luna gave me!"

"You could have sold that, you know," Clem says.

"I could have," I shrug. "But it was Maya. Who can say no to Maya? Besides, no one would pay more than twenty cents for it, anyway."

"They would if you'd let me advertise for you," she says.

"Advertisement and extortion are not the same thing, _Clementine_ ," I shoot back, purposefully calling her by her full and hated first name.

She pauses for a moment, trying to think of a good comeback, and then sighs and fake pouts. "How come you don't have a name I can make fun of?"

"I mean, you could make fun of it, if you wanted to," I point out.

"Your name is too pretty to make fun of," she complains. "Oh! Speaking of pretty, look what I have!" She hands me a fancy envelope with my name on it.

"How do you have that?" I demand, snatching the envelope from her hands.

"That's what you get for being too lazy to walk to the post office," Clem shrugs.

"Clem, this is from the Palace! How long did you keep this from me?"

"Relax," she says. "I only got it yesterday."

I roll my eyes and open the envelope. I skim the letter quickly, trying to make sure there's nothing in it about me being arrested or anything like that. Wait, what? A Selection? I decide that it would be better if Clem doesn't see it. I fold the letter, stick it back into the envelope, and put both into my satchel.

"What? What does it say?" Clem demands.

"It's nothing," I insist.

"Luna, I saw your face while you were reading it. It wasn't nothing."

"It wasn't important."

"It was the Selection, wasn't it?" she says.

"What? How did you know?" If she didn't already know what it was, my question definitely gave it away.

"Um, there's this thing called TV?" Clem says. "They announced it on the Report. It's playing in, like, every store ever."

"Well, it doesn't matter," I tell her. "I'm not entering."

"But you should!" she says.

"I should go compete for the hand of a guy whose father killed my family?"

"Fine, whatever." Clem drops it there. For now.

* * *

Later that night, Clem and I and about five other girls sit in a circle, trading stories about the day. Finally, Aimee says "Let's play Truth or Dare! I'll go first. Truth or Dare, Clem?"

"Dare," Clem grins. We should really just call this game 'Dare' because none of us ever choose Truth.

"Okay . . ." Aimee pauses for a minute for dramatic effect. "I dare you to steal a chocolate cupcake from that bakery over there." Aimee points to a bakery across the street that's just closing up. Clem calmly walks across the street and hides behind a tree. When a worker walks in the employees only door, Clem quietly slips in behind her. We can't see what happens inside, but it ends with a crash and yelling and Clem sprinting back across the street at full speed. She smirks and takes a long, slow, bite of the cupcake. She chews, swallows, and tosses it to Aimee. "Too much salt," Clem says simply. I laugh. As Eights, we can't afford to be picky like that. Clem just wanted an excuse to give her cupcake to Aimee.

Licking a bit of extra frosting off her hand, Clem turns to me. "Truth or Dare, Luna?"

"Dare," I say, expecting her to have me break a Two's window or sing a dumb song, or something like that. Instead, she says, "I dare you to enter the Selection."

"What?" I say. "That's not fair. Aimee, tell her that's not fair!"

"There's no rule against it," Aimee shrugs. "And there's no take-backs for Dares. Sorry, Luna."

"But this isn't something like . . . like stealing a cupcake!" I burst out. "This is my life! It's my family's life . . ." I trail off, shuddering at the memory. I blink back tears, refusing to allow myself to cry in front of everyone. "And I'm an Eight, anyway. He won't want me."

"It's a random drawing, Luna," Aimee says. "You have as much chance as anyone."

"No," Clem says, "She doesn't. We all know it's rigged. But, they have to have a couple girls from the lower castes so know one gets suspicious."

"I-I don't want to be selfish," Lacey chimes in, "but we sure could use the money."

"Besides," Kate says, "don't you want a taste of Palace life? It would be really nice to get off the streets for even just a little bit."

I'm a little ashamed to admit that Kate's words are what convince me to fill out the form, not Lacey's. I mean, of course I want them to have the money. But more than that, I want out of this life I've been living for too many years.

"Alright, fine," I say. "I'll fill out the form." I figure that if I'm not going to get in anyway, the piece of paper isn't going to hurt me.

 **Albany's POV**

I almost step on the mail when I walk in the door. I trip over my own feet trying to avoid stepping on anything important and end up sprawled across the floor. My older brother, Keller, walks in behind me and laughs as he steps over me. "You fell," he helpfully points out.

"Thanks," I say as I pick myself and the stack of envelopes up. I shuffle through the mail. Electricity bill, water bill, mortgage - and then there's the different one. The one with my name on it. The one with the Illean royal crest on it.

I almost call out to Keller, but then I decide not to. I open the envelope without saying anything. I'm too tired to really focus on the words, but one sentence sticks out at me. "Families of those Selected will be generously compensated."

My family could definitely use some "generous compensation" right now. People assume that we're fine because we're Fours, but we're really not.

"What is it, sis?" Keller asks, coming up behind me.

"It's nothing," I say, shoving the letter into my pocket. "Just bills."

He looks a little suspicious, but just says, "Okay, well, when you're finished reading 'nothing', can you help me make dinner?"

"Yeah, sure." I guess that's one of the benefits of being one of the oldest of the family: we get to come home before everyone else to make dinner. Dad is too important to the mines to come home early and the others are too young to be home alone. Although, these same kids are somehow old enough to work in mines. I've learned not to question Mr. Abbott's logic. If he wants to think he's giving out company benefits, why not let him?

* * *

I hide under the covers of my bed, feeling guilty about using the "emergencies only" flashlight, reading over the entire letter again. I decided not to tell my family about it. For one thing, Zoe would be super jealous. She's had a crush on Prince Elliot for years. Also, if I do enter and get Selected, everything will change - forever. I'm afraid that if I enter and people find out, they'll treat me differently, and I just want a few more days of normalcy.

The application ends up looking very messy, due to it being written while under the covers of my bed and while holding a flashlight in my left hand, but it'll have to do.

 **Freya's POV**

"Are you sure we should be doing this, Lake?"

"Why shouldn't we do it?" she responds.

Because I'm a Seven. Because Mr. and Mrs. Smither certainly wouldn't like losing another worker. Because I don't know the Prince. Because I can't read.

I could say any of these things, but I don't. I say, "I don't know."

"See?" Lake says, as if she just proved a point. "You're going to be fine. You're going to be a Princess, Fray!"

"That's only if I get chosen out of thousands of girls in Bonita, and if that happens, thirty-five girls from all over Illea."

"Well, if there's so little chance of you being Selected, there's no harm in filling this thing out, is there?"

"I-I guess not," I admit.

"Right. So, what are your hobbies?" She says in a business-like tone.

"I . . . like to learn words?" I say.

"Uh-huh," Lake says. "What else?"

"I like braiding hair," I say, "but I'm not that good at it."

"That's why we're putting it under 'hobbies' and not 'skills'" she points out.

And so the Selection begins to take over my life.

 **So I'm hoping I didn't fail miserably at writing from these characters' perspectives.**

 **See you next time!**


	3. The Office

**I'm back! Wow, it's been almost a month since I updated. Sorry! I've been really busy with school and stuff.**

 **I still need characters. I really need some mean(or mean-ish) characters. The characters I have so far are: Albany Barnes, 4, from TieDieTruth, Luna Silverwood, 8, from Nithya, Amber Forrest, 3, from MysteryGal5, and Floretta May Havynn, 6 (Palace maid, not Selected) from Fryllabrille201.**

 **I'm accepting 2-3 more Selected characters and 2 more non-Selected characters.**

 **I'm wondering if this story would be better in 3rd person . . . Hmm . . . let me know what you think in reviews!**

 **Reviews:**

 **TieDieTrith: Yay! And hugs are awesome, no need to apologize.**

 **Fryllabrille201: Well, I can't take credit for Luna's and Albany's personalities, but I'm glad you like them! I love Freya's and Lake's friendship, too.**

 **MysteryGal5: I'm glad you're excited!**

* * *

 **Amber's POV**

I walk slowly down the street towards the Province Office, trying to distract myself from the envelope heavy in my hand by turning my attention to the world in my head. The writing prompt I worked on this morning, about how _Romeo and Juliet_ might have ended had the characters not committed suicide, has grown in my mind from a simple story to an entire universe. There are so many possible outcomes, and so many words that could express them. It's a shame that the majority of the ideas will have to remain in my head. After all, there is only so much time in a day that I can dedicate to writing.

I'm so absorbed in my thoughts that I nearly run into someone as I near the Province Office. I blush and trip over my feet trying to avoid her. "Sorry." She rolls her eyes and continues her conversation with her friend.

Looking around, I notice that they're not the only ones standing here. A line almost half a mile long stretches from here to the Province Office. The range of castes in the line is obvious. Several Twos are here, many of them in extravagant outfits and full makeup. On the oppposite end of the spectrum, there are Sevens and even some Eights in sturdy and (for the most part) dirty work clothes. I can't help picking out some of the girls and morphing them into characters in my mind.

The pretty girl with the denim overalls and messy ponytail is a Seven, and a middle child. She works just as hard as her older brother does for the family, but without the leadership or recognition that he gets. It's been ages since she's truly been happy. She doesn't hope to find love in the Selection, just a way to bring her family out of poverty.

Or maybe she doesn't want her family to benefit from this. Maybe she's angry at them for not giving her the life she feels she deserves. Perhaps her entering the Selection is a statement to her family: I don't need you and I don't want you.

I think about the possibilities. The first is far more likely; families in lower castes tend to stick close together. But the second possibility is much more interesting, maybe good enough to incorporate into a story. I wonder if either of my theories are true in real life.

When the girl goes inside the Office, I turn my attention to another girl in the line. She looks like she could be a Two or maybe a Three. She has expensive clothes and lots of makeup, but not so much that she looks like a clown. She greets people around her with a smile that seems plastered on. Maybe she wants power or money in the Selection, but I think maybe she wants an escape. Not that being in the nation's spotlight is a very good place to hide from life.

A girl in my mind emerges, loosely based on what little I know of this stranger who is entering the Selection. She's a Two, a singer, successful in her field but not really famous. She loves singing but not the attention. She feels like she'd be better as a Five than as a Two, but she's not ready to leave the money and security of being a Two.

I continue like this, making up stories about the girls I see in the line, wondering what of it is true, until there is no line left in front of me and it's my turn to step into the Province Office. What happens inside is a blur in my memory. I hand my paper to someone, someone else takes a picture, and then it's over.

* * *

 **Floretta's POV**

"Lilibeth!" I greet my friend. "Did you hear about the Selection?"

"Everyone's heard about the Selection, Flo," she says. "Aren't you so excited?"

I grin at her. "Yeah, I am. It'll be really cool to meet some new people. Of course, I'm a Six, so who knows if they'll even pay attention to me." I quickly rap a wall three times, hoping I didn't jinx myself. "Some of them will probably be friendly, though." I knock on wood again. "But . . ."

"But what?" Lilibeth presses.

"Well, you know how I feel about the Selection," I say.

"It works every year," she says.

"How do you know? That's what everyone says, but we weren't for any of the previous Selections. Surely, not every prince got a perfect happily ever after."

"Or maybe they all did," Lilibeth says. "Like you said, we weren't there. We don't know. Maybe the Selection is fate."

"I don't think fate is that organized," I counter. "The universe is full of chaos, why shouldn't love be the same way?"

"There's a lot of order in the Universe, too," Lilibeth says. "The planets, the laws of nature, human anatomy . . ."

"Order comes from chaos," I say simply.

 **Please submit a character if you haven't already! Keep reading, keep reviewing, and have a fabulous day!**


	4. The Wait

**To anyone reading this story: Thank you. I know my updates are annoyingly irregular, and I apologize for that and thank you for continuing to read, review, and submit characters. It really means a lot to me. And to anyone who said I did well in portraying their character: I'm not sure you understand how happy hearing things like that make me. I work hard to get these characters right, and I love that y'all think I'm doing a good job at that.**

 **The characters I've recieved so far: Albany** **Barnes, 4, from TieDieTruth; Luna Silverwood, 8, from Nithya; Amber Forrest, 3, from MysteryGal5; Floretta May Havynn, 6 (Palace maid, not Selected) from Fryllabrille201; Lydie Belle Pine (not Selected) from Booki; and Alison Sydney Jacobs from SorryI'mReading.**

 **The SYOC is still open. Please submit a character, and if you do, could she be mean? Please? Every story needs a Celeste. (Or an Ember).**

 **Alison's POV**

The wait is killing me. It's still another week until the Selected are announced, and I think I might die of anticipation before that day arrives. A flutter of guilt kicks into my chest when I think about Miles, but I remind myself that he's just a crush, I never had a chance with him anyways, and he probably doesn't even know I exist.

I know it's unrealistic to think I'll be Selected, or that I could fall in love with a Prince (well, actually, the unrealistic part is the possibility of him falling in love with me), but I can still dream, right?

Sadly, dreaming is probably all I'll ever do.

 **Luna's POV**

After applying for the Selection, life almost returns to normal. Maya comes to see me (and ask for chocolate) every day, I continue to make toys and fix things, and there are still games of Dare most nights.

Everything is so normal, I can almost forget I entered the Selection at all.

Almost, but not quite.

 **Albany's POV**

I can feel guilt crushing me. I've never really kept any secrets from my family. I tell myself it's for the best that they don't know until the Selected are actually announced, but I still hate that I haven't told anyone. I feel like I'm lying to all the people I'm closest to, and that alone is enough to make me want to stand on a roof and shout to everyone that I entered the Selection.

But I know I won't do that. The best thing I can do for my family right now is let them think that everything is normal. Even if it's not, and never will be again.

 **Flo's POV**

Everything in the Palace is centered around the upcoming Selection. "Only two weeks until the Selected arrive!" everyone is eager to remind everyone else. Rooms need to be prepared, windows cleaned, extra cooks hired. Everything is a blur of action, the word "Selection" impossible to escape from.

I am excited. No matter how I feel about the concept of the Selection, it's exciting to think of all these people coming to the Palace. It's something I'll only see once or twice in my lifetime. I don't want to waste what I'm sure will be an incredible experience.

 **Amber's POV**

Everything moves slower as the Selection approaches. The ordinariness of daily life seems stifling after taking the huge leap of entering the Selection.

Time doesn't pass, it drags.

The only thing keeping me busy is my writing. I use it as an escape, until I realize that I end up writing about characters who do nothing but wait.

This one competition is taking over my thoughts, and I don't even know if I've been chosen yet. If this is what simply entering does to my mind, what will it be like if I'm Selected?

 **Lake's POV**

I'm excited for my cousin. Really, I am. Who wouldn't want Freya as their Princess?

And I'll be fine without her. Really, I will. I'll miss her, of course, but I'll be fine. I'm the tough one, the happy one. the one who wouldn't be affected if the cousin she loves like a little sister was stolen away to go live like a royal.

I guess I'm thinking to far ahead. There's still a week until we find out who's been Selected. Freya might not even be picked.

But there's still the possibility that she will. And no matter how nonchalant I act, I know that I'll fall apart if she leaves.

 **Lydie's POV**

I tug at my new maid's uniform uncomfortably. It's good quality fabric, even I know that, but it's heavy and uncomfortable compared to the denim and cotton I've been wearing my whole life.

In my head, I review what Mother told me.

My name is Belle Ceder (I'm sure she thought she was being clever with that one).

I am a new maid. I am to stay in the kitchens, the laundry rooms . . . anywhere where I won't draw attention.

I am to be quiet and obedient and not let anyone suspect that something is going on.

And I am to wait.

 **So, chapter 4. No dialogue, and a lot of very short POVs. What did you think?**

 **The SYOC is still open, for both Selected and non-Selected characters. Mean characters, please? Please?**


	5. The Selected

**I got a lot of positive feedback on the format of last chapter. This one is going to be very similar. Not all chapters will be, but it felt important to this chapter.**

 **I technically have all the characters I need for the SYOC, but if you're new to the story (or you've been reading and just haven't submitted a character), you still can if you want. I don't feel like being strict about it. The new characters I have are Chloe Brynn Karlotta Hoffman, 3, by xXNewZealandMaoriXx, and Valarie Kenya Cross, 4, by Arianna RW. I also created another character(Emani Jeffers), because I felt like she would be important for another character's development. It'll make sense later . . .**

 **Also, something kind of unrelated: A few months ago I published a story on FictionPress called Cindy the Cytoplasm. A woman who has a youtube channel called the Saturday Storytellers asked if I would like her to read it on her channel. I'm not sure I can post the link, but if you go to youtube and search "Cindy the cytoplasm" it's the first thing that comes up. I think she did a great job reading it.**

 **Anyway . . . happy reading!**

* * *

 **Emani**

I sit in anxious anticipation in front of the TV, surrounded by at least a dozen people. Being a celebrity, it's almost impossible to be alone. Not that I'd want to be alone right now. This could be a huge moment in my life. If I get Selected, I want people around to celebrate with.

 **Luna**

My friends and I gather in Mrs. Granite's grocery store, trying our best not to look like shady shoplifters as we gather around the TV. I'm nervous. Why am I nervous? I'm just watching TV. No big deal. Clem was right earlier, when she said the Selection was rigged. There's no way they'd chose an Eight. I tell myself this, but the butterflies in my stomach refuse to listen.

 **Amber**

I turn the TV on. I know there'll be a lot of news unrelated to the Selection first, so I open up a book. I know I should probably "pay attention to the world around me" but right now I'd rather live in my head.

I don't know how long I read for, but I'm startled away from my book when I hear Mark Faydaye announce "and now, the moment you've all been waiting for . . . It's time to find out exactly who the lucky ladies of the Selection are!"

I pull my book to my chest with one hand, squeeze my mom's hand with my other hand, and fix my gaze on the screen in front of me.

 **Freya**

We don't own a TV, and we live in the middle of a farm in the middle of nowhere. Lake and I have to walk almost a mile to the nearest store so we can see the TV in time to know who's Selected. I tried to convince her it wasn't worth it, but she insisted. We're a little late. We missed all of the beginning of _The Report,_ all the non-Selection related stuff. In fact, we missed part of the beginning of the Selection related stuff, too, because the first thing I hear when we walk in the door is, "From Bonita . . . Miss Freya Galeson, Seven!"

Lake just smirks and says, "I told you so."

 **Chloe**

I'm sitting on the floor, stretching. My parents are together on the couch, snuggled close together. It was their idea for me to enter, but I'm just as excited as they are. This is a great opportunity to strengthen Germany's and Illea's political bond, not to mention it would be an awesome experience for me.

I half-listen as names are called. There's an eight, someone Silverwood, and that famous model, Emani Jeffers. And there's a Three named Chloe Hoffman.

Wait, what?

 **Floretta**

Whatever my feelings on the Selection, I can't help being curious about who'll be Selected. Being a maid, I'm not allowed to be part of the studio audience, but there are cameras broadcasting it live throughout the palace. The names of the selected mean next to nothing to me; I don't know who any of them are. Some of them sound vaguely familiar, like perhaps they're celebrities, but none that I really know.

But I know these names mean everything to the thousands of girls who entered. And I know that soon, they'll all be more than names to me.

 **Lydie**

It's fairly quiet in the kitchens. I know that in the coming months, that will be a rarity. But that's okay. The louder it is, the harder it is to spot me. I feel like a puzzle for children: One of these things is not like the others. But the more "others" there are, the harder the game is. Right?

I tell myself I'm being paranoid, but I can't shake the feeling that everyone can see right through me.

 **Valarie**

I'm not surprised when I hear my name. I mean, who wouldn't want me as Queen? Sure, I'm only a Four, but that's a minor and temporary detail. It's a bummer no one's around to congratulate me, but that's their loss. Mom and Dad may never have loved me, but soon Illea will have no choice but to adore me.

 **Alison**

"From Bankston . . . Miss Alison Jacobs, Three!"

I scream. This has got to be the best day of my life. Ever.

 **Albany**

I watch _The Report_ alone. I tried to convince my family to watch it with me, but they were all too tired. I don't blame them. After twenty names that mean nothing to me, I'm about ready to give up and got to bed too. But just as I'm about to turn the TV off, I hear, "From Panama . . . Miss Albany Barnes, Four!"

I should be excited. I guess I am, a little bit. My family needs this money. But don't they need me, too?

How am I supposed to tell them about this? What should be one of the most important moments in our life, and I'm alone.

 **I really feel like I forgot a character . . . If I did, I'm really sorry.**

 **Like I said, the SYOC is still sort of open . . . but if you submit a character, please make sure she's different from the ones I already have.**

 **Please keep reviewing, they really make my day. Bye!**


	6. The Prince

**I've received two new charcaters: Tanya Merideth Everly from and Elodie Simone from AlliJanice. They'll be introduced next chapter; this one focuses on the prince and stuff going on at the palace.**

 **The SYOC is closed for Selected characters. I'll accept one more non-selected character if anyone wants to submit one.**

 **Prince Elliot**

I sit on a plush chair in a small sitting room with a pile of applications on my lap. Mother and Father sit together on a love seat while Hazel and Liam share a couch. It is painfully and awkwardly silent. I shuffle through the stack of papers, trying to will the 35 faces and names to stick in my brain.

Liam is the one who breaks the silence. My sixteen-year-old brother can never stand to be quiet for long. Funny how he and his twin sister Hazel are so different. "You know," he says, "It's technically not too late to call this off. I mean, none of the girls are here yet."

"But they've already been announced," I point out. "It would be cruel to offer them the chance of a lifetime and then take it away from them."

He snorts. "Do you really think that many girls consider getting to know you the chance of a lifetime? You're not that awesome."

"You be quiet," I say, but it doesn't really bother me. Liam's comments are annoying, but mostly harmless.

"I'm just saying," he says defensively. "I still think you shouldn't do it."

"You're just jealous because you're not allowed to flirt with them," I shoot back.

He sticks his tongue out at me. "Why are you having a Selection anyway?" he challenges. "Did kissing maids get old for you?"

I blush. "Maid. Singular. And she has nothing to do with this."

Liam grins. "Right. Sure she doesn't."

"That's enough of that, boys," Mother says suddenly "Liam, the Selection is happening, and that is final. Elliot, back to work. You really must get these girls' names memorized. You don't want to make a fool of yourself in front of them, do you?"

I sigh and turn my attention back to the papers in front of me. I decide to quiz myself by covering the names and just looking at the pictures. Let's see . . . curly brown hair, big hazel eyes . . . I think it's Amber something, right? I check the paper. Amber Forrest. I was right. Kind of.

The next girl in the stack also has brown hair, but it's longer and straight. Her eyes are also brown, but they seem a little purple-ish too. I have absolutely no idea who she is. According to the paper in front of me, she's Luna Silverwood, an Eight. But really, that tells me nothing. A name and a number, a couple of extra details, but nothing about her personality. No matter how many times I look at these forms, they're still just paper. I don't know her favorite color, or what her reaction to a beautiful sunset is, or what can make her laugh out loud. The paper in front of me is an empty, incomplete reflection of a deep and full human being.

"Are you going all 'deep-thinking poet' on us again?" Liam says.

"You've been looking at the same form for ten minutes," Mother adds. "Well, your eyes were looking at it, anyway. I'm not exactly sure where your mind was. Who was that one, anyway?"

"Luna Golden- no, _Silver_ wood," I say.

"The Eight?" Mother replies, obvious disgust in her voice.

I sigh. "Yes, she's an Eight."

She sighs right back but says nothing.

 **Floretta**

Lilibeth shoves a piece of paper in my hand, barely glancing at me as she says, "Maid assignments," and rushes off. I glance down at the paper. I've been assigned as a maid to Emani Jeffers. The model. I stiffen involuntarily. As Lilibeth like to remind me, not all models are Carissa. But still . . .

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment and then look back at the paper. I'll be working with Julia Summers and . . . there's no one else listed. "Lilibeth!" I chase after her, grabbing her arm to stop her. "Aren't there supposed to be three maids per Selected?"

"Yes . . ." she says, not understanding. I show her my paper.

"There's only two of us," I say.

"Well, go find someone else," Lilibeth snaps. "Sorry, Flo. I'm just really stressed. I don't have time to find you someone else to work with. Ask for volunteers in the kitchens or something."

I take her advice and head down to the kitchen. I know that if I just yell "Who wants to be a maid?" chaos will ensue. I survey the crowd of people myself. I catch glimpse of a tall girl with short, curly copper hair washing dishes. I have no idea if she's got the right skill set or personality to be a maid. But there's a look in her eyes that I like. I slip through the kitchen around a few chefs and tap her on the shoulder. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

 **Lydie**

I follow the short girl with dark hair out of the kitchen. "Yeah?" I say, anxious to know what this is about. What if she found out? Mother will kill me. That is, if the royals don't do it first.

"How would you like to be a maid?" The girl asks me.

"I am a maid, " I point out.

"I mean a real maid," she says. "For one of the Selected."

I consider it. Mother would definitely disapprove. She said lie low. But she also said to learn as much as possible about the royals and the Selected. And this would be a great opportunity to do that. Plus, it'd be fun. I smile at the girl. "I'm in."

 **let me know who your favorite characters are! (And don't just say your own character)**


	7. The Rules

**Ya girl done goofed. This is what I should've posted for chapter 7, but for some reason I skipped over it and posted "The Sendoffs" instead. "The Sendoffs" is now chapter 8, as it should have been in the first place. I'm sorry for the confusion.**

 **Albany**

Exactly three days after the announcement of the Selected, a very crisp, official-looking lady knocks on the door of my house. I hop up from the dinner table and answer. "May I help you?"

"Hello," she says. "I am Ms. Penelope Wright, your official Palace coordinator. I'm here tonight to go over the rules and official paperwork with you. May I come in?"

"Oh," I say, "of course." I step aside to allow her inside.

"Palace?" Zoe questions, coming up behind me.

"This is the house of Albany Barnes, is it not?"

"It is, but what-" Keller starts.

"Yes, it is," I cut him off.

"Right then," Ms. Wright says. "Miss Barnes, I have some important paperwork for you that needs to be filled out prior to your participation in the Selection."

"Selection!?" Zoe practically screams. I think I see a brief flash of jealousy across her face, but it is quickly replaced with excitement. "Oh my God! You're going to be in the Selection!"

The moments of hurt on the faces of the rest of my family are not as short-lived. Eric gives me a look that can only really be called that look, and says, "You really want to be a princess?"

"Well-" I start, but I'm cut off by another question.

"How come you never told us?" Luke, my youngest brother, questions.

"I-" I start to answer, but I am cut off once again, this time by Ms. Wright, who has grown impatient with my family. "If you don't mind, " she says in a tone that communicates that I'd better not mind it, "we have some paperwork to get through."

I try my best to pay attention as she goes over the rules and tells me what I need to wear, what vitamins I need to take, etc, but I'm distracted by my guilt. I guess I shouldn't really feel guilty. I did this for them, after all. But I still feel horrible for keeping it a secret from them. And I can't quiet the voice in my head that tells me that it was never really about them, that all I am is selfish.

 **Luna**

The fancy-looking Palace lady standing in front of me looks a little confused. "You are Luna Silverwood, correct?"

"Correct," I say simply.

"Do you have a place where we can sit and discuss some things?"

"This is all I got," I say, shrugging at the small booth I'm standing behind. "Sorry."

"Fine then," she says. "Ms. Silverwood, I have some important paperwork to go over with you." She continues, going over all the rules about what I can and can't do in the Palace, what will be done with my compensation money, what vitamins I need to take. There's one rule that sticks out to me, though. Perhaps because of the way the woman leans forward and lowers her voice as she says it, or perhaps because of the utterly vile nature of what she says. "Ms. Silverwood, while you are not to directly pursue the prince, it is strongly recommended that you not resist him, regardless of what he wants. Kissing, sex, anything in-between. You understand?"

I manage to keep myself together in front of Ms. Wright, but internally, I'm seething. I don't care whether he's a prince or not, he should be expected to uphold common decency as much as the rest of us. Besides, he's already taken my family. I'm not letting him anywhere near my dignity.


	8. The Sendoffs

**Hey, guess who's back? I don't really know if anyone is still going to read this, but I really hope so. I'm very sorry for abandoning it for so long, but I'm really excited to be working on it again! Thank you so much to everyone who submitted a character, write reviews, or just read this at all.**

 **Edit: Okay so originally I posted this as chapter 7, but I skipped over what _should_ have been chapter 7. It's kind of important to the plot so I went back and added it in. If you haven't already, please go back and read the real chapter 7, and I'm sorry again for the confusion. **

**Valarie**

The day before my official sendoff, I throw a massive party. Practically everyone in the whole city tries to get in, but I turn away anyone below a Three. After all, there's simply not enough space for everyone here. Besides that, I'm going to be Queen soon, and I can't be expected to associate with the lower classes.

On the official day of my departure, there is a huge crowd gathered in the town square, waiting to see me off. I deliver a speech I prepared last night, about how honored I am to have been chosen and how I'll do my best to make them proud. "If I am chosen to rule this nation, I guarantee I will stop at nothing to make sure each and every one of you is taken care of." I may be stretching the truth a little, but that's the point of politics, isn't it?

 **Alison**

I'm bubbling with excitement and nerves on the day of my sendoff. I wasn't expecting to make a speech, so when a microphone is shoved in my hand and I'm instructed to say something, I'm caught a little off-guard.

"Um . . . hi," I say, giving a little wave. "I'm really, really excited to have this opportunity to be in the Selection." I pause because I have no idea what else to say. "You're all lovely people." I blush and hand to microphone back to the woman who gave it to me.

After that, I have only a few minutes to hug my friends and family goodbye. My little sister, Meredith, is the hardest to say goodbye to. I hug her hard and whisper, "write me letters, okay? I love you." She promises me she will, and then I'm rushed off to the airport in a limousine.

At the airport, two other girls are already there waiting. One of them I recognize from the Selection announcements as Valarie Cross. The other one I can't remember. She looks up at me from a book and smiles. Valarie does not smile.

I extend a hand to the girl whose name I can't remember. "I'm Alison."

"Amber," she says. "Nice to meet you."

Valarie is somewhat intimidating, but I figure it'd be rude to just ignore her, so I turn to her and smile.

"Valarie Cross," she says, her tone making it clear that it is not nice to meet me.

I generally try not to judge people, but I seriously do not like this girl right now. At least Amber seems nice.

 **Amber**

The entire plane ride is awkward. It's overwhelmingly clear that Alison and Valarie do not like each other, and the tension in the air is palpable.

Thinking about the Selection is making me anxious. I can't believe I was chosen. Everything for the next few days, or weeks, or months, depending on how long I last, is going to be insane. There's the competition itself, plus learning how to properly be a leader, plus getting used to Palace life, plus the possibility of rebel attacks . . . it's enough to make anyone overwhelmed.

I choose to ignore all of this and write. Lately, I've been working on a story about a time traveler and an immortal whose paths keep crossing. This plane ride is going to last at least three hours, so I should be able to get a lot of writing done. I'm glad for the opportunity to escape reality and live in my own world for a little while.


	9. The Makeovers

**Luna**

When we arrive, I'm blown away by how beautiful the Palace is. I don't get much time to admire the exterior, though, because we're quickly rushed inside for makeovers.

Maids scrub every inch of me, and it feels incredible. I try to keep myself clean but I'm an Eight, okay? Getting a warm bath and a solid meal is basically the height of luxury.

After that, a woman asks me what kind of style I'm going for, and I have no idea what to say.

"I mean, I'm and Eight. Or I was," I say, remembering that, as one of the Selected, I'm a Three now. "I'm not really used to having a choice about fashion.

She nods. "Okay then." She inspects my face. "You have lovely eyes."

I smile. "Thank you."

"Let's draw attention to that. Jenny, love, can you do her eyeliner?" she asks one of the maids. "Make her eyes really pop."

By the end of the makeover, my eyes are adequately "popping", my hair's been put into an elaborate braid, and I'm wearing a gorgeous violet gown. I feel beautiful.

 **Emani**

The makeovers are truly the one part of this whole process I feel prepared for. I'm a model. Makeovers are my forte.

It really doesn't take a lot of effort on my part to get the look I want. They ask me how I want to look, and all it takes is six words for them to know exactly what I want.

"Make me look like a Queen," I say.

 **Amber**

There is only one detail of my makeover I refuse to compromise: I will not let them take my glasses. Other than that, they can do whatever they want. But I detest wearing contacts, and I'm afraid that without my glasses I'd look like an entirely different person.

You'd be surprised how much convincing it takes. The maids and designers seem very determined to take my glasses away and replace them with contact lenses.

Eventually, they back off, figuring it's not worth the trouble. My makeover is over fairly quickly, and I still feel like myself. After I'm done with my own makeover, I sit back and watch everyone else transform.

Chloe Hoffmann's makeover is simple, but it gives her an indescribable air of elegance. Or maybe that's just her personality.

Elodie Simone, in a simple pastel blue dress, gives off a similar vibe of elegance, but something about it is . . . softer, somehow.

Alison looks soft and feminine, as does Freya Galeson.

Valarie's makeover might be the most dramatic. Her bold makeover and deep red dress give a clear message: she's not here to mess around.

Emani Jeffer's look is very regal. A lot of the girls here look a little uncomfortable in their new dresses and makeup, like they're not quite used to them yet, but Emani looks completely at home. Benefit of being a model, I suppose.

Luna Silverwood looks downright ethereal. I can't believe she used to be and Eight. She looks like some kind of powerful fairy from a different world.

And me? I think I just look like me, except . . . more. After we got over the whole glasses thing, it seemed liked the maids and designers found the things that make me look like myself and found ways to draw them out.

It's really not a bad feeling.


	10. The Dinner

**SorryI'mReading, MysteryGal5, Fryllabrille201 - it makes me really happy that you guys are still reading this, and thanks so much for the reviews!**

 **Albany**

After our makeovers, we're given a crash course in etiquette before we are taken to the dining room for dinner. When we get there, we sit in our assigned seats and wait until the Royal family arrives. When they do, we stand, curtsy, and sit back down when the King instructs us to.

And then the maids start serving food, and we start eating it, and oh my god. I think I'm in heaven. I've genuinely never tasted food this good in my entire life. I wish I could send food like this back to my family. I'm comforted by the fact that, with the compensation they get from my participation, they'll be doing well. Not nearly as well as I'm doing here at the Palace, but better than they've been for a long time.

 **Freya**

The food here is incredible. I've never tasted anything like it in my life.

It actually might be too incredible. On the farm with Lake, all we ever had was simple foods (and never enough of them). I've never had food this rich, and it's making my stomach twist. Or maybe that's just nerves.

Whatever it is, it's getting worse, and I need to get out of here. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Our etiquette training didn't cover what the protocol is when you feel like you're going to vomit and you need to be excused.

Prince Elliot is sitting to my left. Having him so close is making me even more anxious, but I guess it's also convenient. "Your Highness," I whisper. "May I be excused for a minute?"

"Of course," he says. "Is everything all right?"

I nod and stand. I blush as I walk past everyone to get to the door. Once outside of the dining room, I have to ask a guard for directions to the bathroom. And then I'm alone in this bathroom that probably cost more to built than my entire house, and I throw up everything I just ate. And then I start to cry.

It was stupid to think I could do this. I'm just a Seven - a stupid, illiterate Seven, and that's all I'll ever be. I can't even handle eating dinner with the Royal family; it was stupid to think I could ever be one of them. Lake was wrong about me and I can't do this and I want to go home.

Just then, I hear someone else come into the bathroom. I turn around and see that it's another one of the Selected. I can't remember her name. I turn back around and heave again, and she's there in an instant, holding my hair back for me. When I'm done, she hands me a wet washcloth. I give her a weak smile. "Thank you." My voice is still shaky from crying. "I'm sorry, I just-"

She cuts me off. "It's not your fault. Are you okay?"

I consider lying and telling her I'm fine, but I think it's evident that I am not. "I don't know if I can do this," I whisper.

"Honestly, I think that's how we all feel right now," she tells me. "We're all crazy worried that we're not good enough for this, and wondering what we're even doing here. But you deserve this just as much as every other girl here."

I smile at her again. "Thank you."

"Anytime," she says, and I think she means it. "They told me to tell you that you can just go up to your room now if you can't go back to dinner."

"I don't know where it is."

She holds up a slip of paper. "Prince Elliot gave me directions." She helps me up. "Oh! And I'm Alison, by the way."

"Freya," I respond, happy that I seem to have made a friend, even if the way we met wasn't ideal.

. . .

I spend the rest of the night up in my room, which is utterly gorgeous. I was worried my maids wouldn't like me, or that they would think I wasn't good enough for this, but they've been nothing but kind.

Alison goes back down to dinner after dropping me off at my room, but about twenty minutes after that, I get a visitor. There's a knock at the door, and Madeline, one of my maids, goes to answer it.

I'm surprised to see Prince Elliot standing in my doorway. Madeline curtsies. "Your Highness."

"Thank you, Miss," Prince Elliot says to her. "I just came to check on Lady Freya."

I blush a little. "I'm sorry about leaving dinner; I didn't mean to be rude," I say.

"Don't be sorry," he says. "Are you alright? You seemed a bit ill."

"I'm okay," I assure him. "I think I'm just . . . not really used to having such rich food, I guess. I'm a Seven - or a Three, now, but I used to be a Seven, and we don't really have food like you do and . . . I'm sorry." I remember, a second after saying it, that he just told me not to be sorry. Too late now.

"No, I'm sorry; I should have considered that," Prince Elliot says. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Thank you, though."

"Of course," he says. He glances at the door. "I'll leave you alone now. I hope you feel better in the morning, and welcome to the Palace."

I find myself thinking about our brief conversation all night. It was short and awkward, but it was also very kind of him to come and check on me - and to not send me home.


End file.
